


Home

by ArtlessComedic



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Freeform, Future Fic, What Have I Done, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 18:18:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7325539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtlessComedic/pseuds/ArtlessComedic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tord is forced to suffer another crippling defeat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

Tord struggled to breathe, gasping for air he couldn't seem to get enough of and gagging on something metallic. The sky above him was dark, stars invisible behind the black clouds filling the night sky. He spit up whatever was choking him, and when he managed to take a breath, it burned. 

Slowly, every muscle on fire, he rolled himself over onto his stomach. He closed his good eye, the robotic one on his right side damaged in the explosion he'd just barely survived. 

A sickening sense of deja vu filled him, and Tord gagged again, clenching his prosthetic fist. It, too, was pretty beat up, and when he moved it, his shoulder felt tingly and numb. 

How could this happen again? He'd been so careful. He'd done everything short of killing him to keep that idiot out of his way. His soldiers had been his reinforcements, and without his transmitter he couldn't tell how they were holding up against the rebel army without him. 

“Tord.” A single voice resonated through the night air, filling Tord with white hot anger, and a cold dread. 

“Don't-” he choked again, curling forward into a position that felt too much like a bow. The pain prevented him from rising, so he stayed put anyway. _“Don't call me that.”_ He said, the words sounding more like a pathetic plea for mercy than the demand for respect they were supposed to be.

“Tord,” the voice said again, closer this time. “That's enough.” 

Tord listened as the speaker, the only enemy he could never seem to be able to kill, stepped closer. The dirt beneath them shifted audibly as the other man knelt before him, and Tord didn't look away from it as he inched his left hand towards his belt. 

“Please, Tord. Let go.” The voice said, and Tord grit his teeth, blood and spit flying onto the ground as his breathing grew harsher. “Come home.” 

He curled his bloody fingers around the handle of his knife. 

Someone else's ran gently through his matted hair. 

“I won't.” Tord spat, his voice ragged. “You don't...trust me.” 

“I trust you.” The voice said, ever patient. Just as calmly, Tord slipped the knife from it's home and repositioned it in his hand. 

“You...you and the others...” He tried, vision beginning to blur. He wasn't sure if it was from blood or tears, or simply exhaustion, but he closed his eyes all the same. “Need to stop...getting in my way....” 

A laugh filled his ears, soft and affectionate, as the hand in his hair moved to his cheek. Tord leaned against it simply because it was a welcome cold compared to the hot pain in his skin. 

“Come on, Tord. Let's go home.” 

Tord tightened his fingers around the knife. 

“I can't.” 

He swung. 

A body slumped against the ground. The other figure in the dark held it close. Begged. Apologized. Cried. 

But the body did not stir, and it never would again. 


End file.
